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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913903">Feel My Wrath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSWilliams/pseuds/JSWilliams'>JSWilliams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vikings (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Attraction, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Ivar the Boneless - Freeform, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Pre-War, Princes &amp; Princesses, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:14:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSWilliams/pseuds/JSWilliams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU three-shot: At the behest of her adoptive father, King Harald, Rori attempts to befriend Prince Ivar before The Great Battle, but ends up actually liking the cripple Prince, enough that she begins to question her father's orders for the first time since she was swept away from the shores of Francia as a small child.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bjorn/Halfdan the Black, Ivar (Vikings)/Original Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. CH01 ~ Sons of Ragnar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p><strong>Rori</strong>/<strong>Ivar</strong></p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p>        <strong>R</strong>ori watched the famed sons of Ragnar Lothbrok bicker, all hostile glares and biting comments, as they attempted to plan the upcoming battle. They looked more like petty children squabbling over who was going to be in charge, rather than the formidable heirs to the Lothbrok name, not exactly a confidence-inspiring sight to behold. This was to be <em>the</em> battle, one that was sure to be one for the ages for the Viking people as a whole, a bloodbath that would mean the difference between them becoming wining conquerors of new lands or beaten foreign invaders.</p><p>        It had been weeks since her father's party had joined up with the Lothbroks', and still, Rori wasn’t sure exactly what to make of the princes' that had made this grand venture even possible. They were all so different, in both mind and temperament, it was hard to believe they were even related at times. But none more so than the youngest of the brothers, the one dubbed Ivar the Boneless, by his own father. The psychopathic fourth son, the <em>cripple</em> son, of Ragnar Lothbrok and Aslaug, who quite possibly has the keenest mind Rori had ever encountered, including that of his own father.</p><p>        The latter of whom she had had the pleasure of meeting briefly, many years ago, when she had been just a small child. No more than six years old, very recently adopted by King Harald from the very streets of Francia, which he had been busy pillaging. King Ragnar had been so kind and playful towards her in the wake of her parent’s death, in the wake of <em>her</em> killing those two men, <em>his</em> men, both of whom she had killed in an act of vengeance.</p><p>        Her then soon-to-be father, King Harald, had been so impressed by her violent acts that day, of the little six-year-old girl who had killed two fully grown Viking men with only a single five-inch knife to aid her in her grief-fueled wrath. It wasn't particularly a skilled killing, she'll admit, nothing like the damn right artful killing she was capable of doing now, but her age and their surprise had aided her in ending them swiftly.</p><p>        Rori hadn’t cared for King Harald and his brother back then, two brutes who had essentially kidnapped her from her homelands, and kin to the very men who had killed her parents and many of her people. But time had soon passed, as it tends to do, and within that time she grew, both in age and wisdom. She started to learn about her captors and their strange ways, that for them, what they did to her people was just a way of life. She had even grown to love her new father and uncle, the latter in particular, who had quickly become the most important person in her life.</p><p>        Halfdan was against what his brother was trying to do here today, Rori knew, he would much rather her father left her completely out of his plans for world domination. But the sad truth was, they both lived with a healthy dose of fear when it came to Harald, knowing that he wouldn't even think twice in running them both through if he ever felt betrayed. Not even the fact that she was his only child, blood or not, and that Halfdan was his brother would halt his rage.  </p><p>        “Little-Raven,” Halfdan greeted, softly sing-songing his pet-name for her with an easy smile, the latter of which was reserved solely for her and his brother.</p><p>        Taking the seat beside her on the log she had claimed for her own, Halfdan watched with silent caution as she went about meticulously sharpening her sword, pointedly ignoring the blonde man seated beside her. It wasn’t that she was angry with him per se, not really, he had always followed his older brother’s lead, regardless of what he personally believed. So she wasn’t all that surprised when he had stayed silent <em>that</em> night, and yet, she couldn’t push down the betrayed feeling lurking around the frozen cockles of her heart.</p><p>        “Auroriana,” Halfdan sighed softly, trying to meet her eyes head-on, as he nudged her shoulder gently with his own, “Please don’t be mad at me – he is my brother and my King. What would you have had me do, Little-Raven?”</p><p>        “I’m your family too, Halfdan,” Rori muttered bitterly, glaring down at her sword, pausing in her acts of sharpening. “You said that – <em>you</em> said that. That day, all those years ago, when my parents died, and you and father found me . . . when you took me in. <em>You</em> said that! Or was it all just words to you?”</p><p>        “Ah, Little-Raven,” Halfdan sighed regrettably, reaching out to grasp her stubborn chin in one calloused hand, gently forcing her to turn to face him. “<em>Never</em> doubt my love for you, Auroriana, it rivals even that which I hold for our Gods. That day we found you, hiding among the hay, was the greatest of my life.” He paused, lovingly whipping an escaping tear away from her cheek, knowing how she’d hate for the men of The Great Army to see such a display of emotion. “Do you know why?”</p><p>        Rori shrugged unknowingly, not daring to speak for fear of her composure cracking completely under the weight of Halfdan’s earnest words of love. She had been only six when the two travellers had darkened the dark of her family’s farmhouse, killed her parents, and turned her into a killer herself. So she didn’t really remember them all too well, Halfdan and Harald were the only family members she has now, and the latter of which wasn’t known for being all that warm and fuzzy, to begin with.</p><p>        Harald showed his love for his adoptive daughter by turning her into one of the best warriors in their Clan, capable of matching both him and Halfdan in single-hand combat with ease, as well as any other man brave enough to challenge her. While Halfdan showered her in affection and adoration, to him she was his little sister more so than that of a niece, in all but blood, in every way that it mattered most.</p><p>        “It is because, unlike my dear brother, you want nothing from me except my love and acceptance, both of which I freely give.”</p><p>        “Father loves you,” Rori reassured back confidently, leaning subtlety into Halfdan’s persistent grasp on her chin, as he raised his hand to brush a stray strand of her hair back from her face.</p><p>        “Oh, I know,” he chuckled, leaning in slightly, with a bitter smile curling his thin lips and bit mischief dancing in his pale blue eyes, “But would he still love me if he knew the truth about me? Like you do, Little-Raven?”</p><p>        Rori stayed silent at that, knowing his words had more than a little validation, for Harald had made many comments in the past about people who shared Halfdan’s . . . affliction. Though she didn’t see it as a sickness herself, his attraction to another man, for how could love ever be considered wrong? It was their secret, one that he hadn’t actually meant to share with her, but after a night of heavy drinking, he didn’t exactly have much say on the matter. She was just glad she had been the one to find him stumbling back from the tavern, and not someone else, someone who wouldn’t have taken his drunken declarations in stride as she had.</p><p>        “It matters not to me, Halfdan,” she stated clearly, meeting his crystal blue gaze with the verdant one of her own, to make sure he could never doubt that simple truth, “There is little that could ever dampen my love for you.”</p><p>        “I know,” Halfdan smiled warmly, placing a lingering kiss upon her forehead, before pulling back with a sad little sigh, “Which is why my love for you rivals all others, even that which I hold for my beloved brother, because the truth is, he would soon her put a dagger in my heart rather than except it longing for a man.”</p><p>        “So why didn’t you take my side then, when father tried to leave me behind,” she demanded, finally letting the anger that she had been letting fester since departing from their homelands weeks ago now.</p><p>        “Because he is not just my brother, Little Raven, he is my King. And if I’m being honest, I did not wish for you to come, either. Obviously, not for the same reasons, the Clan will be fine without someone staying behind to lead it in our absence."</p><p>        “Why then?” She breathed out, hurt flooding her veins, wanting desperately to understand him and his reasoning if only so her damn heart would stop hurting every time she even so much as looked at him.</p><p>        “I didn’t want to risk losing you,” he admitted shamelessly, finally releasing her chin, as he looked down at his hands now clasped before him, hanging casually between his knees, “You are far too important to me.”</p><p>        Rori didn’t say anything to that – what could she really say? He had acted out of love for her, there was no denying that simple truth, it was in his voice so clear she could hear the earnest love in his every word. So instead, she turned back to the squabbling princes, who now stood speaking to her father, who didn’t look particularly pleased with them at all.</p><p>        “We should go over there.”</p><p>        At her abrupt redirect, Halfdan looked up and around them searchingly, before he spotted his brother and the princes', “After you, Little-Raven.”</p><p>        With a genuine smile, something which that little pet-name nearly always drew out of her, Rori stood up, flicking her long black braid over her shoulder. Carelessly dropping the sharpening stone to her feet, Rori holstered her sword, before crossing the twenty-foot distance between them and their King, with her shoulders back and her head high. Halfdan followed half a step behind her, head slightly lowered, with his chin long blonde fringe covering half his slim face.</p><p>        “Ah, here comes my brother now,” Harald called out warmly, clasping a strong hand firmly upon Halfdan’s shoulder when the other man got close enough, pulling him tight into his side with an almost loving smile, “And my dear daughter, Princess Auroriana, whom you all have yet to formally meet, I hear.”</p><p>        “All except for me,” Björn corrected, eyes glinting with intrigue as they served her from head-to-toe. Just as curious about the beautiful young woman who had ensnared the heart of King Harald and his brother, two of the most vicious Vikings out there, as everyone else oh-so-clearly was apparently. “We met briefly, the day you adopted her, in Francia, she was just a child then. You have grown into a beautiful young woman, as well as a fierce warrior, I have heard many great things about your skill in battle, Princess Auroriana.”</p><p>        “As have I of you, Prince Björn Ironside,” she returned kindly, if not a little dispassionately.</p><p>        Honestly, Rori would kill to be anywhere but right where she currently was, being gawked at by the princes like she was little more than a well-trained whore. Prince Sigurd and Hvitserk were the worst offenders, unabashed even as they eye-fucked her before her own father's eyes, and the fact that Harald was saying nothing about it enraged her unlike nothing else could.</p><p>        Though admittedly, Björn did not look at her like that, his gaze was pure curiosity, nothing sexual about it, surprisingly enough. And she did remember the Prince, not much, since he had barely spared the orphan foreigner a second glance back then, but she did remember enough to notice that he had grown much wiser, less impulsive, and more like his late father. Which she could only think to be a good thing, lest he ends up like of his younger brothers, lusty idiots, who were far too cocky and self-entitled for their own good.</p><p>        “We were just discussing our Great Heathen Army,” her father informed jovially, getting a barely suppressed groan from Rori, of which in turn caused Halfdan to chuckle as he moved back from his brother, only so he could sling an affectionate arm over her shoulders instead, “I was just informing the Princes' here about my displeasure of you being in the camps, especially surrounded by so many men, knowing that I and Halfdan won’t be able to be with you at all times.”</p><p>        Her jaw clutched in oblivious anger before she could suppress it, to hide it from her father’s keen gaze - but he saw it regardless, as did the youngest of the princes', prompting a curious rise to his brows in response. “I will be <em>fine</em>, father, you and Halfdan have both trained me well.” So well, in fact, that she knew exactly when she was being manipulated, even if that Princes' did not.</p><p>        “That we did,” Harald agreed, seeing Rori as one of his proudest achievements yet, turning the child of an enemy into an asset, “However, I know Halfdan still worries, <em>right</em> brother?”</p><p>        Halfdan sighed, sending her a remorseful glance before he said, “You know that I do, brother.”</p><p>        “Which is why I wanted to ask for a small favour,” Harald prompted, eyes flicking over the princes' as a whole, as he went about setting down his first card in his long game to become King of all Norway into motion, by planting her close to one of the princes.</p><p>        “And that is?” Ubbe edged, sharing confused looks with his brothers, all save for Björn, who just stared her father down with a hard unmoved look.</p><p>        “I wish for you to allow Auroriana to accompany Ivar into battle,” Harald explained brazenly, not even having the grace to speak directly to the prince in question as he asked his 'favour', “I have faith that the young prince will keep her safe, aboard his chariot, and away from the brunt of the battle.”</p><p>        The princes' read between Harald’s carefully constructed lines, to what he had wanted them to think he wanted, which was to keep his precious daughter tucked away with the cripple, who wouldn’t be able to take advantage of her as the other men could. The cripple in question wasn’t much pleased with the insinuation of his impendence, if his tight jaw and even tighter palming of his axe at his hip, was anything to go by.</p><p>        Harald picked the youngest prince for a reason, of course, because he saw what others had yet to, that Ivar the Boneless was by far the most dangerous of them all, if only because he was the one to inherit his father’s brains and cruelty as a pair. She was to befriend him, to sway him to her father’s side, all so that when he made his play for Kattegat there would be one less Son of Ragnar Lothbrok to go through, and a Lothbrok heir to sway their people into compliance.</p><p>        “I don’t see why that would be a problem, <em>right</em> . . . Ivar?” Björn agreed with a shrug, obviously not really caring if Ivar minded at all, which he most certainly did.</p><p>        “<em>Not at all</em>, Björn,” Ivar concurred through gritted teeth, sending an entirely fake smile Harald’s way that no one was buying, “Of course the Princess can ride with me.”</p><p>        “I thank you, Prince Ivar,” Harald said with an entirely fake smile, flicking a pleased smirk Rori's way, a look unhindered by her subtle glare back in kind.</p><p>        Seeing this was going to spiral way out of control, at least if Sigurd, Ivar’s antagonistic older brother, let loose that snicker building around his harsh little smirk, Rori reluctantly played her part. Flicking her long raven braid over her shoulder, Rori sent the youngest prince a smouldering smile that had gotten her far more fools asking for her hand than she honestly cared for.</p><p>        Sauntering to stand before Ivar, she started with a softly spoken “Prince Ivar”, breaking his striking blue gaze away from his brother’s amused one quicker than a strike of lightening, “I hear the great boat builder, Floki, built your chariot?”</p><p>        “He did,” Ivar confirmed with more than a little smugness in his voice, as tilted his head slightly to the side curiously, wondering what exactly her angle was, no doubt.</p><p>        “It must be beautiful then - Will you show it to me, Prince Ivar?”</p><p>        She kept her gaze locked only on his, even while feeling that being locked in that gaze was probably a dangerous place to be, it was eerily like he was staring right into her very soul. But by doing so she knew it would bother his brothers greatly, especially Sigurd, whom she had pointedly ignored for the last few weeks, to continue to ignore them now in favour for their cripple brother.</p><p>        The hateful idiot had actually thought that he stood a chance with her, all but ordering her playful into his bed, like such a weak attempt at wooing a girl would work. Rori had laughed in his face if she recalls correctly, or that might have been with Ubbe? Honestly, it was so hard to keep all the fools that had tried to bed her in the weeks spent in Kattegat before the army had set sail straight.  </p><p>        She knew she was a very beautiful woman, not in a narcissistic way, but in a way that men never let her forget that that’s all they thought she was, so the unwanted attention wasn't exactly a surprise. The fact that they all thought that because of who they were they were simply entitled to find their way into her bed, however, was a little more so surprising. She is the Princess of her clan, just like how the sons of Ragnar were princes' to their own, so she had just as much power as they did. Or at least . . . she would have had she a cock between her pretty thighs.</p><p>        The harsh truth of her life was that she had had to fight tooth and nail just to prove she deserved to be here at all, fighting alongside those very men that doubted her place in her own home, to work that much harder every day of her life to prove herself worthy. All because she was a woman and a foreign one at that, both of which had made her less in the eyes of her people, at least, until she fought her way to the top to prove just how wrong they were about her. </p><p>        Just like Ivar, who was used to being overlooked by almost everyone too, especially by pretty women, and even more so when his many brothers were standing about like better and able shadows. He literally had to crawl around like a dog behind everyone, gaining an immense upper body strength because of it, she absently noticed, not that anyone else bothered to notice his strength, be it physical or mental.</p><p>        And just like she knew he would, Ivar basked in it, her complete and undivided attention.</p><p>        “Of course, Princess, right this way.”</p><p>        She watched as he climbed smoothly down from his log, onto his hands and feet without shame, all the while smirking smugly up at his brothers, Sigurd in particular. She followed silently alongside him, as he dragged his dead legs through the dirt and leaves, with his strong back muscles tensing and un-tensing with every hand-step forwards.</p><p>        It wasn’t until they had gotten far enough away from anyone who could hear that Ivar spoke again, “It is curious that King Harald would keep one of his best warriors far away from the battle, even if that warrior just so happens to be his daughter.”</p><p>        “It is,” she agreed, still more than a little bitter about the whole thing if she was being honest with herself, especially with the role that she had to play in her father’s rise to power.</p><p>        “It displeases you greatly, doesn’t it, Princess?” He smirked knowingly up at her, eyes tweaking curiously, “That your father would deprive you of your right to fight alongside him in battle.”</p><p>        “All that matters is that I get a chance to fight at all, Prince Ivar,” she countered diplomatically, omitting the fact that she planned on ditching his safe chariot in favour of fighting alongside her men, men who had argued for her not to do just that in the first place.</p><p>        “You lie,” he laughed outright, shaking his head at her in clear amusement, “You resent being placed with me, a <em>cripple</em>, during what will no doubt be the <em>greatest</em> battle in the history of our people.”</p><p>        “You’re right,” she reluctantly admitted, pleasant smile souring upon her face, as she held her head high in stubborn pride, “I <em>do</em> resent being placed here with you – away from the thick of battle. But not because you are a cripple, I can already see you are far more than just that, but because it was my own father who placed me here. He watched me fight our men time and time again for the right to be here with them, and he <em>knows</em> what it meant to me to be <em>here</em> . . . and still, he took me away from it all. He showed them that they were right.”</p><p>        “They aren’t right,” Ivar rebuffed softly, not pausing in his crawling, as he shot her a deep look, “People like you and me . . . we will always have to prove ourselves to others. You, a female and a foreigner, and me, a cripple prince. People will always doubt us, no matter how many times we prove ourselves worthy in their eyes, because the truth is, there will <em>always</em> be people who can’t look past the shells we come in.”</p><p>        “I will make them,” she promised, jaw clenching tight in determination, as she met his intrigued stare with a hard one of her own, “One day, I will <em>make</em> them all feel my wrath.”</p><p>        “I shall like to be there when that day comes, Princess Auroriana,” Ivar smiled darkly, coming to a stop before what had to be the most beautiful chariot she had ever seen.</p><p>        “Call me Rori,” she said distractedly, missing the pleasure Ivar got from her words, as she admired his chariot.</p><p>        It was designed to look like the front of one of their longboats, with a carving of a dragon on its front, bordered by intricate patterns and Celtic knots - it was a work of art. One that had captivated Rori so much she didn’t notice the large black horse that no doubt pulled this chariot, not until it huffed into her neck from behind, nearly scaring her half-to-death.</p><p>        Letting out a squeal, one she’d never <em>ever</em> admit to having made at all, Rori backed up, almost stumbling over Ivar behind her as she did so.</p><p>        “That is my horse, Thunder,” Ivar informed with a chuckle, as he pulled himself up and into his chariot. “I named him so because when he rides, with his hoofs hitting the dirt, it sounds just like Thor beating his anvil.”</p><p>        “A fitting name then,” Rori smiled softly, petting the gorgeous black horse butting into her palm.  </p><p>        “Do you want to take a ride, Rori?” Ivar asked, sounding far more earnest than she thought the cunning prince capable of, looking so too.</p><p>        “I would very much like that, Ivar,” she answered earnestly herself, as she stroked a gentle hand down the front of the Thunder's long face, getting a happy little snort for her efforts from the beautiful beast.</p><p>        “Then grab his reins, princess,” Ivar directed, pointing at the thick black leather straps around Thunder’s neck, before climbing up onto the back of the chariot, “and bring them to me.”</p><p>        Doing as told, Rori gently led Thunder by his reins, coaxing him into position before the chariot, then gave the now situated Ivar the reins. She didn’t wait for permission, just climbed upon the chariot behind him, weaving her arms around his waist readily. She felt more than heard his inhale of breath in response to her touch, though she didn’t comment, even if it did make her smile knowing that even Ivar the Boneless couldn’t hide his reaction to her.</p><p>        “Well, what are you waiting for?” She asked promptingly, purposely whispering her words into his ear, relishing in the feel of his body shuddering subtly in her arms.</p><p>        With a playful chuckle, Ivar cracked his reins, sending Thunder soaring through the spacious woods around them. Rori clutched him closer instinctively, even as she let out a surprised laugh, the rapid winds around them rousing up the little strands of hair escaping her long braid. </p><p>        Rori didn’t know how long they’d been riding around after that, the only indicator that it had been far longer than she had originally thought it had been, was the setting of the sun behind them as they brought the chariot to a stop right where they had begun their ride.</p><p>        “About time, little brother,” Ubbe called out from his place resting against a tree, next to his two other younger brothers, Hvitserk and Sigurd. “We thought we would have to send out a search party.”</p><p>        “Calm down, Brother,” Ivar chuckled slyly, leaning back into her purposefully, causing her to realise that she still held onto him. “I was just taking the Princess for a ride.”</p><p>        She knew what he was doing, why he was using her, the purpose it served him - he aimed to make his older brothers jealous because he was the one with the pretty girl’s arms wrapped around his waist and not them. That the very girl, who had spent the last few weeks blatantly ignoring all the princes' collectively, was now willingly cozening up against their cripple younger brother.</p><p>        She wanted to be angry at being so blatantly used, which was a little hypocritical of her really, seeing as she was using him right back on her father’s orders. She also understood, he was used to being overlooked by pretty girls in favour of his very handsome and able brothers. It was also why she didn’t pull her arms back from his waist because she understood what it felt like to be overlooked.</p><p>        “Her Uncle is looking for her,” Hvitserk informed, with a curious little tilt to his head, as he observed the pair of them still stood upon the chariot far closer than she usually allowed anyone to get, save for her uncle and father.</p><p>        At that news, Rori turned to Ivar, placing a strategic kiss upon his cheek, before saying, “Thanks for the ride, Ivar, I had fun - I’ll find you later.” And with that said, she ignored their surprised looks of the other princes', focusing on climbing down from the chariot and going to find her Uncle, all without letting her confused blush make its way to her cheeks in full. </p><p>        Rori didn't blush and she <em>wasn't</em> blushing now, it was just . . . the adrenaline from the ride, that's all. Nothing more, and it certainly had nothing to do with the cunning prince who seemed to be able to see right through her, no matter how pretty she found his sharp blue eyes to be. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. CH02 - Pretty Thighs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>        <strong>R</strong>ori re-entered the camp, spotting her quiet uncle right away, as he sat warming by the main fire beside Björn, of all people. He didn’t look as concerned about her absence as the princes' had made out that he supposedly was, not that she had <em>actually</em> thought he would be, to begin with. Halfdan knew, better than almost all others, that she could take care of herself just fine.</p><p>        Which explained the lack of concern on his part, not so much the smile curling up his thin lips, an expression made without either her father or herself being in his general vicinity, which was a curious sight to behold indeed. Rori figured there could only be one possible reason as to why: the very handsome Björn Ironside sat before him. Not all that surprising really, Halfdan definitely had a type: tall, confident, blonde, and male - a description that Björn fit perfectly.</p><p>        But unlike all the others Halfdan had taken a liking to, this some seemed to have a brain under all that pretty blonde hair, or at the very least, a healthy sense of self-awareness. So did her uncle . . . <em>usually</em>, when he wasn’t faced with a handsome man as a distraction, that is. So, he didn’t notice her approaching him from behind, though Björn, who was currently looking right at her, certainly did. With a mischievous smile twisting her full lips up at the corners, and a single finger placed against them in a shh-ing motion aimed at the oldest prince, Rori snuck up behind her uncle. Björn smiled briefly but managed to blank his face quickly soon after, so as not to alert her uncle to her presence.</p><p>        In a lightning-quick move, one Halfdan had personally taught her, Rori pulled her nine-inch blade from her thigh holster, bringing it to rest firmly against her uncle’s throat from behind, with her other hand locked tightly in his long hair. He froze in both body and speech, not even letting out a pained gasp, as he took stock of his predicament, as well as Björn’s amused and unconcerned expression before him.</p><p>        “What is it you always tell me, Uncle?” She mocked playfully, pushing the blade a tad harder against that vulnerable pale flesh, drawing a small bead of blood in a perfect red line. “<em>Never</em> get too comfortable with you back exposed – you never know who is just waiting to stab you right in it.”</p><p>        At her words, Halfdan relaxed back into her hold, with an amused laugh, turning her hold into more of an odd-looking embrace. “Little-Raven,” He crooned warmly, pulling her blade from his throat with ease, flipping it once before handing it hilt-first back to her, “Where have you been all this time I wonder?”</p><p>        “Ivar took me for a ride on his chariot, as you well know,” she reminded, taking her blade from his hand, putting it back where it belongs, “Before his brothers showed up – said you were looking for me - but I see . . .” she teased, looking subtly towards Björn, who was presently occupied with poking the fire unawares with a stick, “that was a lie, no doubt, to remove my presence from their brother’s side. You didn’t seem to be all that <em>concerned</em> with my absence at all, uncle.”</p><p>        “Why is it you seem so taken with Ivar and not my other brothers, hum?” Björn suddenly asked, looking up at Rori curiously, head tilted in a look eerily similar to watch Ivar had made earlier.</p><p>        “He does not look at me like I am a well-trained piece of meat, of which is exactly how your other brothers look at me,” she stated frankly, sitting on the log beside her uncle. “They look at me and see nothing past my breasts. Ivar does not, he looks at my eyes when he talks to me, and it is refreshing.”</p><p>        “Hum . . . and women like that?” Björn asked with a lift of his right brow.</p><p>        Rori noted Halfdan’s jaw clutching irritably at Björn’s interest in what women might like. She had to fight down a smirk at the sight, he must like Björn bad if he was making such obvious reactions, right where anyone could see, especially the object of his desire.</p><p>        “Some, I suppose, all women are different,” she said diplomatically.</p><p>        “Ah, my daughter, you’re back,” Harald greeted warmly from behind them, placing a large hand upon her shoulder, as he leant down to place a chaste kiss upon her braided head. “Was the chariot as beautiful as you imagined it would be?”</p><p>        “More so, father,” she smiled stiffly up at him, reading between the lines, to hear what he actually means: were you successful at implanting yourself at the young prince’s side?</p><p>        “Good, good!” Harald laughed jovially, before turning to address Björn, who eyed her father distrustfully. “Will we be making camp here, or walking inland more some tonight?”</p><p>        “Inland,” Björn answered curtly, turning back to poke at the fire, “Once my brothers return, we shall proceed.”</p><p>        “Very well,” Harald acknowledged with a nod and an entirely fake smile, one that wasn’t lost on the observant prince, who just smirked knowingly back.</p><p>        While Rori had no sights set on the eldest Ragnarson, especially after seeing her uncle’s so obvious interest, she had to admit that she liked the man. He was observant, with a keen mind, who could see right through her father’s bullshit, she had to respect that.</p><p>        And while she loved her father dearly, she did not share his ambitions, and truly wanted no part in it. But he had given her a new life, one she loved and thrived in, so she owned him. Which was why she had agreed to play the role he had designed for her when he first laid his plans out for her and Halfdan. He was her father and her saviour, she could not refuse him, though she sorely wished she could. She like Ivar, they were similar in many regards, and it felt wrong to manipulate him in such a way.</p><p>        “Here they come now,” Halfdan commented, looking pointedly to the tree line to their left.</p><p>        Ivar rode his chariot right through the camp to where they sat by the fire, smirking the whole way, as his other brothers walked on foot behind him, faces far more dower.</p><p>        “Now we can move inland,” Björn stated, brushing his hands off on his furs and he stood to his feet, kicking dirt into the fire.</p><p>        “Rori,” Ivar called impishly, pointedly using her nickname, something which she allowed very few to use, “Would you like to ride with me?”</p><p>        Seeing her father’s subtle nod, Rori smiled, “If you don’t mind, Ivar?” Though in all honesty, Rori would have agreed regardless of her father’s approval, she didn’t relish the idea of trekking for miles inland by foot.</p><p>        “Of course not,” he smiled sweetly at her, before sending his brothers' smug looks; of which she ignored in favour of climbing up behind him.</p><p>        He was like a spoilt child, flashing his new toy around for all to see. Though she knew that wasn’t the case, he was neither spoilt nor a child, and he did not view her as a toy. He was a Viking male, trapped in a broken body, one that did not match his inner strength and a keen mind. And to him, Rori was an unknown variable, seeing as beautiful women didn’t tend to spare more than a passing glance for the crippled prince. Especially not when his older, handsome, and visibly whole brothers were around.</p><p>        She placed her arms around Ivar’s waist with ease, just like he had been hoping she would, no doubt; right in front of all his watching brothers. Her uncle and father shared amused looks, as they watched from a distance as all the princes, save for Björn, seethed with jealousy.</p><p>        “Lead the way, brother,” Ivar directed with put-upon sweetness towards Björn, as he motioned his hand out before him, while the other held loosely upon Thunder’s leather reins.</p><p>        With an amused quirk to his own lips, Björn did just that, with her uncle and father following along beside him. The other princes' followed suit, with Ivar cracking his reins softly, motioning his horse forwards into a gentle trot. It went like that for a while, journeying inland silently, save for muted muttering and brief scattered conversations.</p><p>        “You don’t much like your brother, do you, Ivar?” Rori commented curiously, as she watched Ivar in a glare-off with his older brother, Sigurd.</p><p>        “No,” he chucked, breaking his glare-off to smile at her sideways, “But of course I love him, he is my brother, after all, doesn’t mean I have to like him.”</p><p>        “Fair enough,” she laughed, she couldn’t say that she’d personally like having him as a brother too much either, not if he ridiculed her as often as he did Ivar for something of which he could not help. “It is the same with me and my father, I love him dearly, but sometimes . . . I do not much like him. My uncle, however, I would walk through Hel for him.”</p><p>        “You love him more so than your father?” He asked with genuine interest.</p><p>        “I hold more love for him than even that which I hold for our gods,” she said softly, borrowing the words Halfdan had spoken to her earlier in the day, knowing in her heart that she spoke the truth.</p><p>        “And he is just your uncle?” Ivar asked with a cheeky smile.</p><p>        “Don’t be gross, Ivar,” Rori chastised with a glare, “He is <em>just</em> my uncle.”</p><p>        “I was just checking,” he laughed.</p><p>        “Checking for what reason, Ivar? Why should you care who holds my affections?” She teased, breathing the words softly against the back of his neck, causing him to reluctantly shudder a little.</p><p>        “I do not care,” he said, paired with a casual shrug, “Who you allow between those pretty thighs of yours is your business – I was merely curious, is all.”</p><p>        “I think you do care though, Ivar,” she whispered lowly in his ear, allowing her damp lips to brush seductively against the curve of his ear, “Maybe because you want to be the one between my pretty thighs, hum, Ivar?”</p><p>        He stayed uncharacteristically silent in response to her tormenting words, which piqued her curiosity all the more, prompting her to be bolder than she usually would. Moving her left hand up from where it rested upon his stomach, she brought it to rest upon his chest, right above where his heart pounded furiously beneath his leather vest, the only clear sign that her words had an actual effect upon him. With her right hand, she collected his in her own, leading it behind him, to rest lightly on her inner thigh, mere inches from her centre.</p><p>        It was supposed to be a game of sorts, innocent flirting to prompt a reaction from the smug prince, only . . . her body didn’t seem to understand that. The warm feel of his hand was doing unsuspected things to her, more so than she had ever thought it would, which surprised the hell out of her.</p><p>        Sure, Ivar was handsome – just like all the Ragnarsons were, smart too; the latter of which was something Rori had always found attractive in her men. It did not matter to her that he was cripple, for she was neither shallow nor judgmental. But he was her father’s enemy, or would be, once her father made a claim for Kattegat. It went against her father’s interests, which in turn meant it went against her own. And yet . . . here she was, with her heart pounding in tandem with her clit, as Ivar boldly raised his hand a half-inch up her inner thigh.</p><p>        “Do you always allow your father to whore you out for information, <em>princess</em>,” Ivar said, flipping the script on her, squeezing her thigh gently as he emphasized her adopted title.</p><p>        It didn’t actually surprise her that he had figured it out so quickly, as she had noted before, the young prince had a very keen mind. Her anger did flare though, at the insinuation, for she was no man’s whore.</p><p>        “My father asked me to befriend you, that is all,” she admitted through gritted teeth, brushing his hand off of her thigh harshly, “What I chose to do after that were my own actions – actions I won’t soon be repeating, I assure you, prince Ivar.”</p><p>        “I don’t suppose you’d be inclined to enlighten me as to why your father wants our friendship, would you?” Ivar asked delicately, taking careful note of her offence.</p><p>        “No,” she confirmed curtly, “He is my father, after all.”</p><p>        “And your loyalty is to him,” Ivar said with a nod, taking a hold of the reins with both hands again, as hers went back to his waist, far less casual-resting than they had been before.</p><p>        “He is my father, and until the time comes that I marry, my loyalty is to him and him alone.”</p><p>        Though she didn’t imagine that she would ever marry, especially since she was already twenty – well past the age of marriage for Princess - and still had yet to find a likely suitor in her clan. And not to mention that all of the men who had made a pledge for her hand on their own had been promptly rebuffed by her father. He did not think any of them worthy of her hand, nor did he like that they had asked him, some even before speaking to her first, even if it was tradition. He saw her as her own woman, who knew her own heart; a sentiment she greatly appreciated.</p><p>        Not feeling like riding with her arms around the waist of a guy who had essentially just called her a whore, Rori relinquished her hold and stepped back off of the chariot in one fell swoop. She landed on both feet steadily, thankful for the distance the men following their leading brigade placed between themselves and Ivar’s chariot. Not bothering to even spare the spiteful prince a second look, Rori marched right on ahead, passed the other princes', who watched on in intrigue, as she made her way for her uncle’s side. <br/>
At his questioning look, Rori muttered softly, “Felt like stretching my legs,” even though she could see he did not believe her simple explanation.</p><p>        “Did the cripple prince get under your skin, Little-Raven?” Halfdan chuckled, nudging her shoulder playfully with his own.</p><p>        “You could say that,” she confirmed in a round-about way, flicking her long braid over her shoulder with an irritated huff. “Please tell me I am staying in yours and fathers tent tonight? Because I simply refuse to cohabitate with him, even if it is only for one night.” <br/>
With a genuine laugh at her expense, Halfdan flung an arm across her shoulders, pulling her in tight to his side. “Of course, Little-Raven, our trust in the princes' does not extend that far.”</p><p>        “All the princes' except <em>Björn</em>, right, uncle?” Rori teased, wrapping her own arm around the tall blonde’s waist, returning his embrace.</p><p>        “I do not know what you mean, Little-Raven,” Halfdan said, forging ignorance, even as if he couldn't seem to stop himself from flicking his gaze upon the towering blond leading their army from the very front.</p><p>        “Yes, you do,” she smiled knowingly, “I don’t blame you, Halfdan, he is handsome, no?”</p><p>        “And married . . . to a woman,” Halfdan huffed disappointedly, cobalt gaze locked upon the eldest prince’s back.</p><p>        “Even so, there is no harm in looking, right?”</p><p>        “No, there is no harm in looking, my Little-Raven,” Halfdan laughed, sharing a conspiring look with.</p><p>        “What are you two whispering about?” Harald asked in amusement, knowing whatever it was he was thankful for it, for bring such warm and mirth to the faces of his two favourite people.</p><p>        “Oh, nothing of importance, brother,” Halfdan assured, with a playful smile, gently appeasing his brother’s curiosity.  </p><p>        “When will we be making camp, father?” Rori skillfully redirected, “The sun will be setting soon.”</p><p>        “Soon, my dear, very soon,” Harald assured, getting a confirming nod from Björn at his pointed look.</p><p>        “We will make camp in that tree line,” Björn clarified, pointing to the sparse tree line in the distance, off to their left a little ways. It was a good choice, she conceited: thick enough to prove cover, and sparse enough to allow their large numbers to spread-out comfortably so. It was with great relief that their large fleet walked the last ten-minute stretch to their camp-to-be, all tired and hungry after a very long days trek.</p><p>        Rori continued to ignore Ivar, and the rest of princes', in favour of following her uncle. He directed some of their clansmen to set up their tent, while Rori went about setting up a fire, in preparation for whatever the men managed to catch for dinner.</p><p>        Distantly, Rori took note of the sounds of Ivar’s chariot leaving camp, companied by another horse, but she refused to look up.  She was still mad at him. She knew she had to get over it sooner rather than later, her father still needed her at Ivar’s side, but for now, she allowed herself to stew in it for a little while longer. </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. CH03</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>        It had been near a full month since the Great Heathen Army first landed in Northumbria, and finally, come morning, the Battle of York was to commence. And Rori honestly couldn’t wait, she was just itching to take more than a little of her frustrations out of some Christians fools, all the while imagining them all wearing Ivar’s smirking face.</p><p>        In the three days since they had made camp, Rori had made it a point to avoid the young cripple prince at all cost, an action of which many had taken note of. His brothers, in particular, had become very interested in the new development, had even thought that it would mean she’d be more inclined to talk with them now Ivar had lost her favour. Something which they had soon learned wasn’t the case, what with her rage at their youngest brother's rudeness making her rage more volatile than usual, approaching her presently just wasn't worth the risk of not walking away with all their limbs still intact.</p><p>        Simply put, Rori wanted <em>nothing</em> to do with any of the princes', all save for Bjorn, that is, he was the only one that didn’t feel the need to try undressing her with his eyes or to actually dare to call her a whore. Plus, he had seemed to have taken a shine to her uncle, which would have won her favour even if he had elected to be a vulgar pig too, though whether he harboured any secret feelings for the male flesh as Halfdan does she did not yet know.</p><p>        Truth be told, if it hadn't been for her father’s less than subtle and pointed looks, Rori would have been happy to continue pretending that none of the princes' even existed all, especially Ivar. But she knew that her King wouldn’t allow for her to continue ignoring the cripple prince for very much longer, which was why, after Ivar and Bjorn informed the men of the unfamiliar battle plan the former had concocted, Rori reluctantly approached Ivar’s chariot. With a stiff jaw and a huff of irritation coming hotly from her nose, Rori wordlessly climbed upon the back of the chariot, reluctantly placing her arms around the offending prince’s waist.</p><p>        “Still not talking to me, princess?” Ivar provoked softly, cracking Thunder’s reins gently, as their army headed off towards the soon-to-be battlegrounds.</p><p>        “Ready to apologise yet, prince Ivar?” She countered, glaring her verdant eyes heard into the back of his head.</p><p>        “What for?” He asked with a laugh, turning briefly to shoot her a truly confused look, “I have done nothing wrong.”</p><p>        “You called me a <em>whore</em>,” she reminded tightly, unrelenting on her unseen glaring, which only garnered a low chuckle in response.</p><p>        “Oh, <em>that</em>,” Ivar mused, as he wisely tapered off his amusement, seeing her displeased expression on another glance back.</p><p>        “Yes, <em>that</em>,” she all but growled.</p><p>        “Well, I apologise, princess,” Ivar said softly, flicking his eyes to meet her own over his right shoulder once more, looking just sincere enough to piss her off all the more, “I did not mean to course such an offence, Rori, I <em>swear</em> it. I saw that you were playing me, which you are, and wanted to know why. That is all.”</p><p>        When he put it like that, she felt more than a little petty, as he pointed out that she was oh-so obviously playing him and that he smart enough to know it too. Of course, he was going to be a little prickly about it, she shouldn’t have taken it so to heart as she had. She certainly hadn't before, when other men called her cruel names for refusing them, it was all just par for the course living life as a women in a man's world. Which in turn made her wonder . . . <em>why</em> exactly <em>had</em> she taken it so personally?</p><p>        She didn’t really know him and he didn’t know her, and yet, in the space of a few weeks and a handful of words shared between them, she had allowed him to get under her skin in a way she hadn't allowed many people to. It was unnerving, and Rori could honestly say she didn’t care for it, not one bit.</p><p>        Liking him would just make following her father's orders all that much harder for her, especially when it came time to betray the young prince in the end. She hadn't wanted to use Ivar before she had actually developed . . . <em>feelings</em> for him, if they could even be considered such, Rori honestly didn't know, she had never liked anyone enough in such a way before.</p><p>        A pretty face was a common thing to find, especially among the Ragnarsons', so if her attraction to the prince was purely sexual she could easily see to her needs with one of his many and very willing older brothers'. But a keen mind like Ivar's, however, now <em>that</em> was a treasure found hidden among common stones. </p><p>        It made him dangerous, far more so than her father's ambition made him because Ivar had an ambition of his own, one that would go far paired with that marvellous mind of his. She had no doubts that he'd drag his crippled form over the broken ones of his brothers' to achieve his own ends, the proof of that harsh truth was all there in his cold blue eyes for the taking, it was a look that inspired fear in the wise.</p><p>        And Rori was far from stupid, she was just as afraid of Ivar as she was intrigued, how could she not be? He was ruthless and he <em>liked</em> killing, just as any Viking should, but with him, it went deeper, because he was fascinated by watching the light leave his victims' eyes. It should not attract her to him as it did so, maybe she was a little fractured inside, after all, she was fucked up enough to call the murders' of her birth family kin.</p><p>        Maybe it was because he was just as angry a soul as she was, kindred spirits, both dark and twisted enough to find light in each other. For when he looked at her . . . she felt <em>seen</em>, it was an addicting sensation, having his eyes always locked on her, even when she was glaring back at him. He didn't just want her body as all the others did, he wanted the whole of her, mind, body, and soul. </p><p>        “To tell you why would be to pick a side, Ivar, and I am not ready to do that quite yet, my prince,” she finally conceded, allowing her arms to wrap more fully and comfortably so around the brunet’s waist, leaning forward to rest her chin comfortably upon his shoulder.</p><p>         "Whatever it is that your father wants . . . you do not want it too, do you?" He summarised correctly, putting that keen mind she admired to use, as he moved a calloused hand down to rest atop her own resting flat against his stomach. "Loyalty is why you remain with him, is it not? That is what you said last we spoke, that until you marry your loyalty belongs to your father and your father alone."</p><p>        "Yes, that is what I said," Rori sighed, with her confirmation feeling not unlike a shackle, tying her to her father and his endless schemes for the rest of her life.</p><p>        "Very well then - marry me," Ivar said casually, with a shrug of his shoulders, like he hadn't just asked for her hand in marriage like any other man would asking the time of day. </p><p>        Letting out a startled chuckle of her own, Rori stiffened behind Ivar, staring at the side of his head as if he had suddenly lost all that keen sense of mind that she was oh-so fond of. He turned to meet her gaze from over his shoulder, with that earnest look again, only now tainted with a hint of vulnerability that she found more attractive than she probably should.</p><p>        "Marry you?" She repeated stupidly, just to be sure she had, in fact, heard him correctly, even though she was pretty sure she had.</p><p>        "Is my asking you really that surprising, princess?" He asked, words just shy of turning harsh, no doubt taking her lack of answer as an automatic rejection. "You are a princess and I am prince, people like us marry each other all the time, do they not?"</p><p>        "Is that why you want to marry me then, Ivar?" Rori frowned, more hurt by his leading words than she would have thought her self to be, but even she had to admit, her heart had fluttered embarrassing eager in her chest at his initial proposal. "Because I am a princess? Is my title really all you want from me . . . from a wife?"</p><p>        "No," he admitted, sound far more uncertain than she had heard or seen him be yet, as he tentatively turned the hand he held under his own over until he could thread his long fingers with her own. "I want <em>all</em> of you, Rori. I want your eyes only on <em>me</em>, I want your smiles only directed at <em>me</em>, and I want to be the <em>only</em> man welcome between those pretty thighs of yours, princess. I want <em>everything</em> from you."</p><p>        "And what will you do with me once you have me, huh, my prince?" Rori wondered aloud, sounding a little breathless to her own ears, as she had to bite her lip to keep her pleased smile from taking over her usually composed face, even when he was in no position to bear witness to it.</p><p>        "I shall make you my queen," Ivar vowed, confidence returning to his voice as she allowed her hand to remain held tight within his own, "Once we conqueror this Christian fools, I shall lay claim to their lands and make it my own, as their new King, with you at my side."</p><p>        "You paint a pretty picture," Rori complimented, speaking truth, for while she was a princess among her people, she would never become Queen after her father passes. She was a foreigner, and she would <em>always</em> be a foreigner in their eyes, the foundling that the King had taken pity on. She'd be lying if she said the idea of becoming a Queen didn't appeal to her, but never more so than saying that the idea of becoming Ivar's Queen didn't appeal all the more so to her.</p><p>        "You'd give up any claim to Kattegat, then?" She had to ask on abated breath, knowing his answer to that question would determine her own to his.</p><p>        "So <em>that</em> is what your father wants, hum? To be King of all Norway," Ivar sing-songed upon a chuckle, before simmering down with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, "Let him have it, what do I care, England is what I want."</p><p>        "And me . . . " she reminded with a soft teasing tone, getting a gentle chuck from the prince, as he brought their joined hands up to press a lingering kiss to the back of her hand, "After all, what is a King without his Queen?"</p><p>        "Does that mean you will marry me then, princess?" Ivar asked eagerly, shooting her a look over his shoulder, eyes wide and imploring in a way that had him looking far younger than he actually was in that moment.</p><p>        Gifting him with a rare smile, Rori pulled her hand back from his, getting an immediate frown because of it, before she brought her now free hand up to his chin. Grasping it lightly, she turned his face farther back towards her own, as she pressed upon the tips of her toes to reach up and plant a deep and surprisingly very gentle kiss against his now parted lips. She didn't let it linger too long, he was in control of the horse leading their chariot, after all, and Rori had no plans of crashing and meeting her end before she got a chance to wear that crown her cunning prince had just promised her. </p><p>        She pulled back with another smile, tucking her face into his shoulder from behind to hid just how big it actually was, as she curled her arms both back around Ivar's waist. It took him a second or two to shake himself back into the present, letting out a happy and very breathy laugh as he did so, snapping the reins of his horse with a pleased smile of his own.</p><p>        "Win us this battle, Ivar, and my <em>all</em> will be <em>yours</em>, my cunning prince."</p><p> </p><p>The End.</p>
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